I Owe You
by UDChibi
Summary: What is one willing to do in recompense for the folly of another?
1. Chapter 1

Dr. Molly Hooper stood alone in the cold morgue looking over the corpse of Everett Fischer, a fellow doctor. He had been, however, a psychiatrist, something that she felt she desperately needed now. Another tear burned in her eye and she took off the third pair of latex gloves she had been wearing and turned around to wipe it away before it fell down her cheek. She leaned against the cold table, trying to pull herself together.

She was not upset over Dr. Fischer, even if that was how she had phrased it to her colleagues and fellow students. She had known Dr. Fischer briefly, she having taken classes from him on neurology when she had trained at St. Bart's, but she had seen him as nothing more than another one of her teachers. Perhaps that was rather cold, he had, after all, been a living breathing human being. But it was easy now for her to dissociate between her emotions and her work, she had seen kids lying on these tables, you don't need any more practice after that.

But she had had to come up with a reason for her distress, and Dr. Fischer's death had been the perfect excuse. She had gotten a text from John last night, and it had taken all her strength to pull herself out of bed this morning.

John Watson: Sherlock's leaving, for good. Seems that Mycroft can't pull him out of the fix he's gotten himself into this time. I'm sorry that I couldn't tell you sooner.

Me: John what did he do?

John Watson: Molly even if I spilled the beans to you Mycroft would be a drama queen about it. I'm sorry.

Me: When will he be back?

John Watson: I don't know if he'll be back Molly.

Molly hadn't wanted to think about the implications of that last text. She had sat in her living room, totally in shock, still as a statue. She wished John had called to tell her the news, but something told her that he couldn't bear to do it. Sherlock had been unusually absent from the morgue for the past few weeks, but Molly had assumed that it was because Sherlock had been pissed off at her for slapping him. She hadn't regretted it at the time, a case was absolutely no excuse for him to start taking drugs again, but she wished that she had had the time to say…what? What did she even _want_ to say?

She smiled to herself in the morgue as she wiped away another tear and looked through the window to the overcast sky. And there once again stood the reason for her failure of an engagement. Even after all these years, and not even seeing or hearing from him for two, she still could not figure out her feelings for Sherlock Holmes. She had felt like a fool, falling for Tom. It didn't take long for her friends to start whispering behind her back, or for Tom to hear the rumors. There were too many similarities between the Sherlock and Tom, at least physically. And then she had said Sherlock's name in her sleep while she was in bed with Tom. That had been it for him, he had packed the next day despite her explanations of having no feelings for Sherlock.

"I was probably having a nightmare of him ripping apart my morgue for a 'case'!" Molly had told Tom, and she hadn't doubted it either. Sherlock had always been a cause of frustration for her, sexually or otherwise.

"Molly…I can't do this anymore. I can't be with you if you want me to be somebody else." And with that, Tom had left. He hadn't sent her so much as a text since then. Then a week later Sherlock had shown up to stomp on her broken heart and have a positive drug test. It was enough to make anyone lose their shit.

But now Sherlock was gone, and she was not even allowed to be properly sad about it. Anthea, Mycroft's assistant, had called her the previous evening to tell her that she must keep quiet about Sherlock's disappearance moments after John had texted her. Molly had snapped back that she had kept quiet about it the first time so what was Mycroft so damned worried about? Anthea had hung up after that. Molly woke up from her reverie when her phone beeped in her purse on her desk chair. She walked over to it to give herself something else to think about. She looked at the text.

Sherlock: Thank you for everything Molly.

Molly's heart pounded in her chest. Tears welled up in her eyes and her hands started to shake.

Me: You know it was my pleasure.

Sherlock: And as always I thank you.

And at that very same moment, a knocking had come on the door. Molly wiped her eyes for the umpteenth time and hoped that her eyes weren't too red. Thank God she hadn't felt like putting on makeup today.

"Yes?" She asked and the person looked round the corner of the door.

"Have you been watching the telly?" Stephen asked Molly, one of the senior students. Molly's eyebrows furrowed.

"No, why? Has something happened?"

"It's the same thing for all the ones here, come look. We don't know what's wrong with them."

Molly walked out of the morgue with Stephen, leaving Dr. Fischer's body on the table. They walked down the thin fluorescent hallways until they came to the staff room. Five or six fellow doctors were standing around the telly, with one of them changing the channel every second or so. But still the same thing played. Molly went up closer to the television and her eyes widened in horror.

A picture of Moriarty was on the screen with the words "Did you miss me?" captioned on the bottom. Even as the channels flickered from one to the next, the message was the same.

Molly turned around as calm as she could and walked quickly back down the hallway towards the morgue. She picked up her purse and then bolted out of the building. She had only one idea of where to go.

Miraculously, a black cab was there immediately when she left the building. She hailed it and it pulled up to the curb.

"221 Baker Street please." Molly said to the cabbie. The cab pulled away from the curb and the doors locked. There was a moment of silence and Molly breathed a sigh of relief. They would bring Sherlock back. It would be okay.

"Dr. Molly Hooper. I have to admit, you were not what I was expecting." Molly heard a familiar light voice say. She looked up into the rear view mirror and looked into the eyes of Jim Moriarty in horror.


	2. Chapter 2

Sherlock, John, Mary and even Mycroft, came back to 221B Baker Street. They interrupted a crying Mrs. Hudson who, after a quick hug and peck on the cheek from Sherlock, promised to meet them upstairs with tea and biscuits.

Sherlock sat in his normal seat by the fireplace, John joining him after helping his wife sit down on the sofa on the other side of the room. Mycroft leaned against the table in the middle of the room, with his usual trusty umbrella leaned beside him. Sherlock saw Mycroft's bewilderment at the present situation and was relieved and shocked to see it. If anyone could have ensured Moriarty's simultaneous survival it would have been him, but Sherlock could see that Mycroft was as bewildered as he was. John broke the worried silence a moment after sitting down.

"It might not have been him. Could have been a poser, someone trying to drum up some trouble. It was only a picture after all."

"I highly doubt that as that was a new picture of Moriarty. We have everything on that man, every photo ever taken of him, every email and text he sent before he died, well, before we _thought_ he died," Mycroft said, "nowhere in my memory is there that picture, and besides that there's-"

"-the suit he was wearing. Brand new. Even by the edge of it I could see that it was a-"

"-Corneliani, a Sharkskin suit, recently introduced at Harrod's." Mycroft finished.

"Alright, would you both stop showing off? You're both very pretty princesses." Mary said at the other end of the room. There was a pause before she spoke again, "Why is he back now?"

"Manages to stay silent for over two years and in the midst of doing that leads both myself and my brother on a wild goose chase." Sherlock muses hands in a prayer position, both index fingers on his lips.

"Two years of work to bring down his web only to find out he was only spinning a new one for us." Mycroft said, bringing a hand up to rub his eyes and face.

The group heard the door open and close downstairs and footsteps up the stairway. Greg Lestrade stood in the doorway, looking rather out of breath.

"Anyone mind telling me why that maniac was on the telly this morning!?" Lestrade said, looking round at everyone in the room.

"We're…brainstorming. Perhaps you would care to join us? Mrs. Hudson is making tea." Sherlock said, not looking at Lestrade. Mary made room and Lestrade sat down next to her.

"So what does he want?" Lestrade asked, leaning forward to take off his jacket.

"Most likely…his _fall_," Sherlock said, "this time, it's not only mischief and mayhem he's after, he wants his dessert after his dinner. I do not believe he expected me to survive St. Barts."

"Well of course he didn't, he forced you to _jump_." John said incredulously.

"But he also led Sherlock and Mycroft all around the world to take down his spider web. Sherlock couldn't very well have done that if he was alive." Mary noted. Mycroft looked at her with something akin to esteem. He had not gotten to know Mary particularly well over Christmas, having burrowed into his own agony over being forced to share in the "family holiday", but now he saw her as being at least somewhat useful.

"So he comes out of hiding just as you're about to leave? Seems like bad timing." John said.

"And not just to us, but to everyone in the country. Now Moriarty's face is going to be plastered to every news agency in the world." Lestrade said.

"And maybe that is exactly what he wants. Business. His networks must have fluctuated at least marginally while being forced to stay hidden, and as Sherlock said, Moriarty did not expect Sherlock to survive. He made budget cuts to lead us down a primrose path into believing we had destroyed his network," Mycroft said, "there was nothing, not even for me, that would have made me remotely suspect he was still alive. And yet, he was on the television today."

"The guy's a tricky bastard I'll give him that." Lestrade said. Sherlock got up and started pacing.

"I'm missing something," Sherlock said, pacing up and down the room, even onto the table that sat before Mary and Lestrade, "there is something _missing_."

At that moment, Mrs. Hudson appeared in the room, carrying a tray with tea and biscuits.

"Oh, I'm so sorry dear, I didn't hear you come in, let me go get another cuppa." Mrs. Hudson said to Lestrade. Before she turned around Sherlock pointed at her.

"STOP. Do. Not. Move." Sherlock said, then he pointed at each person individually in the room, "we are missing something."

"How about a clue as to what you're doing?" John said, still sitting in his chair. Sherlock checked his phone then looked down at John.

"Where's Molly?" Sherlock asked. The room sat in shocked silence.


End file.
